


Learning to Laugh  (That one time it took five years to grow a pair)

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Date, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Ron and Hermione set Harry up on a blind date, which may or may not have been dumb.





	Learning to Laugh  (That one time it took five years to grow a pair)

**Author's Note:**

> This one was fun! Oh, god, I never get tired of these oblivious idiots! This was inspired by a post on Tumblr:
> 
> https://antisocialpenguintalks.tumblr.com/post/162092243968/headcannon 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters and most places herein are the the property of J.K. Rowling and affiliates.

How did he get here? Harry asked himself mournfully. What could possibly have led to this? 

“Here” being an alley around the side of The White Griffin, tucked away in a little hamlet of Blantyre, Scotland. “This” being a twenty-three year old Auror who had been awarded his first Order of Merlin First Class before he even joined the force, wringing his hands behind the restaurant like some nervous teenager. “This, right here” being, somehow, a blind date with the bloke his friends had insisted was perfect for him. 

He was pathetic. 

He hadn’t known what to say, how to tell them he wasn’t interested. He knew what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted. _They_ knew who he wanted. And, damn it, he was working on it. 

Okay, so he’d been working on it for going on five years. He couldn’t help it that the prat was so oblivious. Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy was an easy man. He was proud. He had a bad habit of retreating behind sarcasm and snark when he felt vulnerable. Not to mention, he was still a pointy git and, at times, bloody _infuriating._

But, he was also intelligent and determined. He’d lifted himself out of the hole his family had dug, proving himself step after step. He’d even become an Unspeakable, alongside Hermione, after gradation. He and Harry worked on cases together, sometimes. On those occasions, Harry could see the attention and skill he applied to everything, that determination again. Yet, he still managed to throw playful barbs around and laugh indulgently at Harry’s attempts at flirting. He was funny, surprisingly, though Harry had learned that years ago, and interesting; they got together after work, frequently, sitting in the Leaky with more wine than was strictly wise, talking for hours about everything and nothing. Draco’s voice, smooth and cultured, washing over Harry, riveting him to the spot. 

On top of all of it, he was infuriatingly _beautiful!_ They way his eyes went wide and bright when he started on a topic he was fascinated by, the shifting grey lightening to silver. His hair, always unique and noticeable, now hung halfway to his shoulders and almost never contained any kind of styling product. Generally, he pulled it into a tail, high on the back of his head, wisps flying around his face as they were pulled from the loose knot. Occasionally, though, it fell free, draping to cover half his face in a silken curtain as he ducked his head, chuckling. 

Then, because he was a fucking sadist, he’d tilt his head, baring the lovely line of his neck, push the hair back from his face with long, pale fingers and scratch them across his scalp in an effort to coerce submission from the long trained follicles. Harry dreamed of leaning close, latching his mouth on the corded muscle there and plunging his hands into that hair. Frequently, vividly. How could he go on a date with a complete stranger when everything he wanted existed somewhere else? 

Harry let his body sag against the rough brick of the restaurant, scolding himself for his cowardice, and let the memories come. 

~][¬

The first time it happened, Harry barely thought about it. Maybe, subconsciously, he felt that it was time to move on, move forward. Maybe he was tired of fighting with Malfoy. Maybe he just wanted to see what would happen. 

Whatever the case may be, the decision had been made and the deed, done. One chilly morning in late October, when their eyes met across the Hall, Harry smiled. He felt the urge to smile, so he did.

And then he laughed. Malfoy’s sharp face betrayed his surprise; his eyes widened and his brow furrowed in a little crinkle of confusion. And it was glorious! Harry would have given anything to shock the prat like that, in previous years. Who knew all he needed to do was be nice? 

So, a week later, he tried it again. Would he be as surprised the second time? Only one way to find out. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry lifted his gaze, let it wander over the students and across the hall until it landed on the pointy face topped with startlingly pale hair. Malfoy was just sitting down with his friends, those who had opted to return for Eighth Year. Any moment now… almost… Yes! There it is! The moment grey eyes met his, Harry smiled again. 

Malfoy didn’t looked shocked, though. He looked… Constipated. He seemed to struggle with his expression for a moment before a small smile broke through. Quickly, he ducked his head, his cheeks pink, but it was too late. Electricity tingled across Harry’s skin at the sight and he felt his grin widen in triumph. 

That was definitely better than shock. 

~][¬

Heaving a sigh, Draco twisted the stem of the wine glass sitting before him and glanced back up at the entrance of The White Griffin. Another glance, this time to the large clock hanging above the fireplace on the opposite wall, told him that his date was fast approaching a quarter hour late.

He couldn’t be arsed to care. Gods, why did he even bother coming? It’s not like he wanted to waste his Friday night on some stranger when he could be sitting in a pub with Harry. With Harry and a glass of horrendous swill posing as wine. 

Pansy, however, had insisted. “Come on, Draco.” And “Why not, Draco?” And “He’s an idiot and he doesn’t deserve you, Draco.” Even an “Are you going to moon over Potter forever, Draco?” just for kicks. Fuck, but her voice was annoying, especially after two weeks of the incessant noise. 

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong. It no longer helped to insist he wasn’t mooning over Harry. He quite clearly was. Of course, Harry was as blind as he’d ever been. No matter what Draco said, he laughed as if it was one of his jokes. It certainly didn’t help Draco that he found that absurdly endearing. 

Still, five years. _Five years._ How slow could one man be? 

Except, he wasn’t slow in any other capacity. He was climbing the ranks in the MLE, as could be reasonably expected given his, ah, exceptional resumé. Sure, he was still a mess, but he matched Draco’s stride well enough, both on the job and intellectually. After the first few conversations, he had shed his disbelief and settled into the pleasantly warm sensation of simply enjoying the man’s company. 

Even so, what was Draco supposed to do when Harry leaned close to whisper dirty jokes in his ear? When he stretched his legs out under the table and his ankle brushed Draco’s? When he didn’t move it, just threw an arm over Weasley’s chair beside him, and winked lazily at him? When he scraped his chair closer to Draco’s to make room for Thomas, Finnigan, and Ginevra when they joined the table? 

Sometimes, he’d bend double to grasp the legs of Draco’s chair, pulling _him_ closer instead, momentarily pushing his wild tangle of dark hair under Draco’s nose. He smelled _bloody_ amazing. On more than one occasion, Draco had been forced to excuse himself in order to steady his breathing and calm his overzealous libido. 

The things that man did to him. Merlin, the things he’d like to do to that man…

The worst of it, by far, was his laughter. Harry’s laughter was magical. It rushed through Draco as if it was his own and dragged a helpless response from him in its wake. It was an innocent, infectious joy, shocking considering the things he’d found to inspire it. For all the childlike wonder lacing his lopsided grins, Harry had a wicked and downright lascivious sense of humor. 

And, yet, he kept asking for it, pleading for it. Ever since the first time he’d made Harry laugh, Draco had made it his mission to cause that sound again. He could still remember how it started… 

~}{~

Holy fuck, Potter kept smiling at him. 

Draco didn’t know what to do. It had been going on for several weeks but was never as good as that first time. Sure, he’d been laughing _at_ Draco, but it hadn’t been mocking or mean. Just… Beautiful… His head thrown back, lips stretching wide in a sound of such pure delight that Draco could do nothing but stare. He quickly decided that he wanted to see it again, to hear it again. It didn’t matter, apparently, that they hated each other - well , that Potter hated him - he’d already tried to fight it and failed. So, he decided he’d make the most of it and put forth an actual effort to make Potter laugh. 

With that goal in mind, he was ready the next time Potter caught his attention. Potter lifted his head, met Draco’s eyes, and smiled, bright and easy, like he’d been doing it his whole life. Draco screwed his eyes closed, wrinkled his nose, and did something he doubted a Malfoy had ever done in public to that date:

He stuck out his tongue. 

By the time he opened his eyes again, Potter had his arms wrapped around his middle, leaning back in his chair in a helpless fit of laughter. Draco couldn’t suppress his own triumphant smile. 

That giddy satisfaction hadn’t faded by the next morning so, when Potter caught his eye, his face scrunched and lips twisted into an exaggerated grimace, letting his tongue loll out the side of his mouth, Draco didn’t even think. Instead, he drew his shoulders back and plastered a look of mock surprise on his face, one hand flying to his chest in a parody of scandalised shock. 

He couldn’t hold it for long, though, before the expression dissolved into laughter, quickly answered by Potter’s. Pleased, Draco lifted one hand to his face and, sticking his thumb to his nose, wiggled his fingers in a cheeky wave. 

His stomach flipped pleasantly and Draco ignored it. If this ridiculously public display was any indication, not to mention the whispers it inspired, he was fucked. 

~}{~

Before he knew it, Harry was anxiously awaiting meals. He found himself rushing to the Great Hall for breakfast earlier than ever before, tapping his fingers impatiently ten minutes before class broke for lunch, and staring unseeing at his textbook or assignment when he studied with Ron and Hermione in the library before dinner. 

“Come on, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

“He’ll still make a face at you if you’re a little late, Harry,” Hermione sighed, but she snapped her book closed and gathered her supplies, all the same. 

It did happened, once, that he walked into the Great Hall late, one such evening. His eyes instantly sought out the pale head as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. Malfoy was already eating, his shoulders hunched and his face a mask of boredom. He looked up at Harry, though, and smiled a little at the face he pulled. He gave a half-hearted sneer, lowered his head, and went back to his dinner. 

Harry frowned. That wasn’t how this game worked… Sure, they never spoke about it, or at all really, but there were clearly rules. Maybe he’d had a bad day… But that wasn’t something Harry could help with, no matter how much he wanted to. Which was apparently quite a bit. 

Still, Harry wanted his face, damn it. Er… 

Shaking off the poorly phrased thought, Harry tilted back in his seat, cupped his hands around his mouth, ignoring the odd looks from his friends, and shouted. 

“Aw, come on Malfoy, you can do better than that!”

The Hall stilled and Malfoy’s head shot up, cheeks pink and mouth pulled down in a frown. Harry gulped. Maybe he should have thought that through a bit, first. He wasn’t sure what he could do about it now. He considered throwing out an apology and returning to his own meal but, before he could, Malfoy’s frown had hardened with determination. As Harry watched, he lifted both hands to his face, haltingly, and slipped the index finger of each hand past his lips. 

Harry’s lungs constricted and his pulse sped as the slim, pale fingers disappeared behind pink lips. Oh, fuck. But Malfoy wasn’t done. He used his fingers to drag his bottom lip down at the corners, rolled his eyes back, and tilted his head to one side. Last, but not nearly the least, he pushed his tongue out to let it hang over his chin. 

Surprised laughter ripped from Harry’s chest. He was helpless to stop it but didn’t really care to try. Doubled over in his chair he laughed, oblivious to the hundreds of pairs of eyes darting between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables. 

~][¬

Still kicking himself for jumping to conclusions weeks before - Potter was late, you ninny, that didn’t mean he had grown tired of their game - Draco was determined to never again allow himself get so worked up over nothing. And this _was_ nothing. Sort of. 

Okay, it was everything. It was why he was excited to wake up in the morning, why he looked forward to surrounding himself with so many students instead of dreading such situations. But that was actually his point; he refused to get worked up over it. If Potter could shout random nonsense across the Hall with little apparent fear of gossip, so could he. 

So he did, the next time Potter pulled a face. He looked like he was trying to pick his nose with his tongue and Draco allowed an amused snort before he sucked in a deep breath and shouted.

“Nice face, Potter!” He grinned. Simple, to the point - it would do. 

Potter, though, just cupped his hands around his mouth, palms shadowing own grin, and answered. “Why, thank you, Draco!”

Draco started and blushed. Fucking Potter.

Okay, maybe he _should_ get a little worked up if it allowed him to actually think before he spoke. He set his jaw, and scolded himself. Next time, it wouldn’t sound like a compliment… 

Unfortunately, he was still woefully unprepared when next he heard Potter’s voice call to him.

It wasn’t his fault, of course. He’d been thinking about what to say, he had! But he still didn’t have any ideas. Not to mention, he was running late. Draco had missed breakfast and was hurrying to class, cursing Pansy under his breath. She had insisted on discussing The Game, certain something more was going on that he wasn’t saying. That was a laugh. The fact that he and Potter had taken to a less violent alternative did not mean this was anything more than the newest expression of their rivalry. No matter what Draco wished, lying awake at night, picturing that laugh. Still, it took an hour to reassure her and he’d missed the opportunity to make _Potter_ blush, for once. 

Skidding around a corner and dodging a group of fifth years heading the opposite direction, Draco ignored the odd looks he was getting and slowed to a normal pace. He was just around the corner, now, no need to hurry - 

“Oi, Malfoy! Whatcha got for me, today?”

Startled, Draco turned. Potter was halfway down the corridor with Weasley and Granger, lowering his hands from his face and wrapping them around the strap of his bag. His chest puffed out, proudly, and he darted glances between his friends with a smug smile. 

Draco smirked. The cocky bastard, he’d brought their game into the corridors. Well, two could still play at that game and now was as good a time as any. 

“Why don’t you come over here, Potter, and find out for yourself?” he hollered before he could change his mind. 

It was worth the flutter of discomfort at willfully flirting in the corridors to see Potter’s jaw drop like that, to see his hands slacken their hold and his body rock backward as if he been shoved. Gods, to see that tint of red color his cheeks. 

Turning on his heel, Draco cackled as he continued to class with a spring in his step. Mission, miraculously, accomplished. 

~}{~

He knew Malfoy had been joking, but his blood still hummed at the thought of taking him up on his teasing offer. All of them. Every time, Malfoy threw him a flirty barb, gave a salute, and sauntered away with a delicious swing to his hips, it was all Harry could do not to chase after him and crowd him against the wall. Not to drag him close and press their hot, har-

“Harry? Mate, for the love-”

Harry’s eyes snapped to Ron’s. “I’m sorry, ” He rushed to say when he saw the exasperation in his pale eyes. “I’m sorry Ron, what were you saying?”

“Have you heard the rumors? Harry, everyone’s saying that you’re- that you and Malfoy are-” He broke off with a grimace, seemingly given up on trying to complete the thought and Harry laughed.

“No, Ron, we’re not…” he paused, gaze shooting back to where Malfoy stood with Parkinson, Zabini, and Goyle before amending, “Not yet.”

Drawing on his pent up sexual frustration and stores of fabled courage, Harry stepped away from Ron and called out to the shameless tease on the other end of the corridor. 

“Hey, gorgeous! What are you doing, later?”

Malfoy glanced up, grinning when he found Harry looking right at him, and flipped him two fingers before turning back to his friends. 

Well, fuck. 

Ron sniggered behind him. “Doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen anytime soon, either, mate.”

Harry scowled. 

~][¬

Shaking away the memories, and the self-pity they inspired, Harry groaned. 

The memory of that day refused to disperse. It was mere weeks before graduation when he’d actually laid it on the line. He could have been more clear, he mused. It had looked like a continuation of their game instead of the desperate hope it was. He couldn’t blame Draco for not seeing it then. But it had been five years! What more could he do? 

He’d ask Draco to lunch, but… Well, Unspeakables kept odd hours. He’d ask him to dinner, but they already went to the pub after work, most nights. He’d ask him to a Quidditch match, but… But, but, but! God, he groaned again. Excuses!

He’d had five years to ask him. To ask him absolutely _anywhere,_ as long as it was with him. Five years of flirting and teasing and fucking alcoholic drinks that he forced himself to consume slowly so as not to maul his friend who clearly didn’t _wan-_

Ah. There it was. What if Draco wasn’t oblivious? What if he just didn’t _want_ Harry? 

His heart clenched painfully in his chest, the breath squeezed out of his lungs, and his eyes pricked the threat of tears. And then, through it, came anger. That was- well, that just wasn’t acceptable. They were great together. When they worked, when they talked, laughed! Even when they argued, for fuck’s sake! They were _brilliant!_

He could see that-

No, he _would_ see that. Whether it took another five years, another twelve, or the rest of his god damned _life,_ he would show Draco they were perfect for each other. 

Shoving away from the wall, Harry fumbled for his wand to check the time. If he was lucky, Draco would be somewhere between work and sleep. He steeled himself, turned on his heel… 

And froze. 

The date. Shit. He couldn’t just leave the poor guy waiting… Okay, okay. He’d go in and apologise, tell him he wasn’t interested. Maybe pay for his dinner. 

And then, he promised himself as he lurched around the corner. Then, he’d go find Draco. 

~][¬

Kicking himself, Draco sighed again. Maybe Pansy was right; maybe he needed to stop waiting. For this date and for Harry. 

Draining the last of his, admittedly excellent, wine, Draco stood, tossed a few coins on the table with a nod to the barman, and left the White Griffin. He had more important places to be. 

The blast of chill wind hit him when he stepped out onto the street and he turned away to wrap his cloak tighter against its bite. Ducking his head to block the worst of it, he headed for the alley to disapparate. Harry would be home, surely. It wasn’t too late and, without Draco available to go to the pub, he’d either stay late at work or go home. He’d check both places, just to be-

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” 

A hand reached out to steady him when he barreled headfirst into a man heading out of the alley. Looking up to dismiss the apology, Draco froze. Bright green eyes met his through ridiculous round frames under the low-hanging woolen hat. Full lips spread slowly into a surprised grin. Dark, curling clumps of hair peeked under the brim of the hat and carried the scent of soap and dust and _Harry._

“Draco? What are you doing here?”

Draco shook himself and returned his smile. “Harry. Fancy meeting you here. I was just leaving.” Harry’s hand still clutched his arm where he’d caught him and Draco willed himself not to shrug it off. “I had a date.”

Harry’s eyes darkened, narrowed. “A date?”

“Yes, Potter. You know, a meal with a person one finds attractive and pleasant, enough, in the hopes of engaging in a romantic relationship?”

He was frowning. “I know what a date is.” His eyes shifted to the doorway of the White Griffin, expression strained. “If you’re finished, I need to to- er, I’d like to talk to you. Could you wait a moment? I need to stop in and cancel my…”

“Actually, I was just headed-”

“It’ll only take a second. Please, Draco?”

With a sigh, Draco nodded. He’d have talk to Harry about interrupting him when he was in the process of agreeing. But, he supposed that could wait until he’d convinced the idiot they belonged together. 

Nodding, Harry hurried into the restaurant. Draco took the time to organize his thoughts. He had to present his case in a way Harry couldn’t argue, he had to make an offer he couldn’t refuse. He couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe play to their strengths? Highlight how much fun they have together? He could suggest they fuck, see what happened… 

The door clattered open again and Draco turned. Harry was standing in the doorway, hand still gripping the handle, incredulous disbelief scrawled across his features. 

“What?” Draco asked. “Are you done?” He glanced around the empty street once, but didn’t answer. “Come on, Potter, it’s freezing.”

Slowly, Harry released the doorknob and stepped forward. “You were here on a date?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“Yes,” Draco frowned. “Pansy arranged a blind date and insisted that I attend.”

“Ho-how _was_ your date?”

“Irrelevant,” he waved a hand, dismissively. “It wasn’t going to lead anywhere, even if he _had_ had the decency to show up. Pott-”

Harry took another step closer. “If he had? Why would it be irrelevant?”

Draco’s breath hitched. Harry’s hand was on his arm, again, and Draco’s heart was racing. What was happening? 

“I wasn’t interested.”

“Neither was I. I came here to apologise for wasting his time.”

“What are you talking about?” Could he be- no. No, that wasn’t possible. Pansy wouldn’t-

“Ron and Hermione set me up, too.” -of course she would. “Only, I asked the bartender. He said the only person who hadn’t met who he was looking for had just left.”

“Fuck!” he hissed, and Harry jolted. “I’m sorry, Harry. She was probably just trying make me suffer. She does that…”

“Suffer?”

“I mean, of all the lame-brained, half-cocked-”

“Draco?”

“You and me?” he scoffed. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll-”

“Draco! Shut up.”

Draco’s mouth snapped closed and he narrowed his eyes at Harry’s shoulder. He couldn’t look at him. Fuck, he was going to _kill_ Pansy! And Weasley and Granger. They weren’t allowed to to screw with people’s li-

“Why would going on a date with me make you suffer?” Harry asked, carefully. 

Well, fuck. He couldn’t answer that. 

“Draco?” 

Draco shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Surely this was a nightmare. When he opened his eyes, he’d be home, in his bed, and this would fade away to nothing. 

“Gorgeous?” Harry whispered, the hand on Draco’s arm tightening. “What are you doing, later?” Harry’s other hand, warm on his frozen cheek, finally chase away the mortification. Draco’s eyes flew open, searching Harry’s. 

He was smiling. 

“I-I was going to find you. To convince you that-”

Harry’s lips covered his and Draco’s ordered proposal slipped from his mind, replaced by searing heat and a moist tongue. Replaced by strong arms encircling his waist and cold metal and glass pressing against his cheekbone when Harry angled his head and slid his tongue along the seam of Draco’s lips. Draco moaned, letting his lips part and lifting his arms to rest on broad shoulders, just a bit wider than his own. He finally let his hands slip into the wild hair that tormented him. His mouth flooded with the flavor of Harry, his tongue sliding reverently over Draco’s, and Draco fisted his hands and held on. 

“Draco?” Harry asked, pulling away. 

“What?” he whined, then cleared his throat and tried again. “What, Potter?”

Harry smiled against his lips, leaning forward and forcing Draco to lean back a little. “Come to mine?”

“Merlin, I actually thought you’d never ask.”

Laughing, Harry turned to apparate recklessly in the middle street, squeezing Draco’s heart with the sound as the magic squeezed him through darkness.


End file.
